I'm writing this because I realize that there may come a day when you don't want to look exactly like your Dad; when you think all his attire is totally square (or dumb or lame or whatever word the cool kids are currently using to denote a negative connotation- I don't know what the current "it" word is now and I'm sure I won't know it in the future- and if I do, you should definitely be checking to make sure I'm not a body double sent down to earth by the aliens who now have me captive. Try scanning my forearms for numerous burn scars from years of clumsy baking [BUT I'M NOT GOING TO SAY EXACTLY WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE IN CASE YOU'RE READING THIS, ALIEN BODY SNATCHERS] ).
If that day has arrived, I'd just like to remind you of simpler times- like any given Saturday morning here in present day Iowa when Daddy opens the door to your bedroom to get you out of your crib, and although you have a silly, faux scowl on your face that you use on me every day, when you see that it's Daddy in the doorway your face just can't help but break into a delighted grin. And after he lifts you out of bed and eats breakfast with you and it's time to get dressed, you carefully watch as Daddy puts on each item of clothing and take your wardrobe cues from him: jeans because Daddy's wearing jeans, the same color socks, shirt, and sweater as Daddy, and a hat you managed to find when you saw Daddy was wearing one. You're kind of like this loyal, devoted dog following Derek around. And I mean that in the best way possible.
You don't even like smiling for pictures these days, but when "Cheese" and "Cookie" didn't work, I had a stroke of inspiration: "Caedmon, say, 'Daddy!'"
Your Second-Favorite Parent